


Spring Showed Up Anyway

by fictorium (orphan_account)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Chicken Pox, F/F, Family Drama, Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-20
Updated: 2012-05-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:30:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/fictorium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry gets the chickenpox; Regina and Emma have to team up to take care of him.</p><p> </p><p>Swan Queen: Emma and Regina compare scars</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spring Showed Up Anyway

“Do you have fleas or something?” Emma jokes as Henry scratches his head, again. Regina is being surprisingly accommodating about them spending time together, and so Henry is hanging out with Emma at Mary Margaret’s place for what has become a regular Thursday afternoon play-date.    
  
  
“I’m itchy,” Henry replies, and when he reaches for his comic Emma spots the telltale little bump on the back of his hand.    
  
  
“No wonder,” Emma says, taking his hand and inspecting a little closer. “You’ve got chicken pox. I’d better call your Mom.”    
  
  
***    
  
  
“Hey Regina,” Emma begins, aiming for friendly.    
  
  
“What have you done to him?” Regina snaps, which is pretty unfair because after four weeks Emma has yet to return Henry in anything other than pristine condition.    
  
  
“I was wondering, have you ever had chicken pox?” Emma asks.    
  
  
“What?” Regina sounds genuinely puzzled. “No, I haven’t.”    
  
  
“Great,” Emma sighs. “Listen, you’re not going to like this, but…”    
  
  
***    
  
  
Regina knocks so hard on the front door that Emma actually worries she’s going to break right through it. She springs into action, sliding the door open and pushing right past Regina into the hall.    
  
  
“I know you don’t like it,” Emma says. “But trust me, you do not want to have chicken pox as an adult. You’d be in agony. And in no fit state to look after Henry.”    
  
  
“You can’t keep him from me!” Regina growls. “Do you think I can’t see through your flimsy plots? After all I’ve given you, still you try to take more.”    
  
  
“Regina!” Emma tries to shut it down. “I’ve had chicken pox. And so has Mary Margaret. Trust me, this is for the best.”    
  
  
“I am not handing my son over to you for ten days!” Regina says, and she actually stamps her foot in frustration.    
  
  
“Listen,” Emma says, actually risking a hand on Regina’s shoulder. Regina looks at Emma’s hand like a rat is crawling on her. “You’ve looked after him every single day for ten years. Why not think of it as a… vacation? I mean, he’s on Easter break anyway.”    
  
  
“I don’t need time off,” Regina argues.    
  
  
“But if you got sick you wouldn’t be able to run the town for a week or two,” Emma points out. “Think of all the chaos other people could cause without you running the show.”    
  
  
The threat is an implied one, but Regina latches on to it instantly.    
  
  
“But he’s my son,” Regina says plaintively. “I should be looking after him.”    
  
  
“I’ll be okay, Mom!” Henry calls from behind the door. “I… don’t want you to get sick.’    
  
  
“Well, here,” Regina says, her cool mask slipping right back into place as she fumbles in her coat pocket. “You’ll need this.”    
  
  
“Calamine lotion?” Emma says, impressed. “You were coming over here to tear my head off but you still stopped at the pharmacy for this?”    
  
  
“Of course,” Regina snaps, clearly not understanding why Emma is beaming at her like an idiot.    
  
  
“When I had chicken pox,” Emma says, her face falling at the memory. “It took my foster mom three days to give me anything for it. And even then she just left the bottle in my room and told me to stop sniveling. You’re a good mom, Regina,” Emma finishes, embarrassed at her revelation.    
  
  
“Well, I already knew that,” Regina fires back, but her heart clearly isn’t in it. “I’m not happy with this… arrangement. But I’ll bring Henry’s things over later. He’ll need clean pajamas, and his comics, and…”    
  
  
“‘I’ll look after him, Regina,” Emma says, laying her hand on Regina’s forearm. “Think of it as a thank you. For the past ten years.”    
  
  
Regina snorts at that, but she hesitates a little longer than necessary before pulling away and marching back out towards the street.    
  
  
***    
  
  
By the end of the week Emma’s nerves are a little frazzled. Henry is trying his best not to whine, but a kid who feels sick expects a certain level of comfort, and even with Mary Margaret’s help Emma thinks she’s screwing it up.    
  
  
She’s making soup (and not burning it, this time) when there’s a sharp rap at the kitchen window that scares the crap out of her.    
  
  
“Regina!” Emma calls out. The Mayor has been calling by three times a day so far, dropping off clothes and games and comfort food for Henry. Earlier, that included lunch for Emma, an uncharacteristically nice gesture.    
  
  
“I want to talk to Henry,” Regina says, and she looks exhausted. Dark circles under her eyes, creases in what would usually be a pristine blouse. Emma calls Henry over from his duvet fort on the sofa and he leans against the glass of the window, causing Regina to reach out instinctively to where his forehead meets the glass. “You can come home if you want, my darling boy. Would you like that?”    
  
  
“Hey!” Emma says, taking the soup off the heat. The last thing she needs is Regina witnessing the latest in a long line of culinary disasters. “What happened to not getting sick, Madam Mayor?”    
  
  
“I miss my son,” Regina snaps, glaring at Emma. “And he misses me, if his phone message is any indication.”    
  
  
“Sorry, Emma,” Henry mumbles. “I couldn’t help it.”    
  
  
“That’s okay,” Emma says, meaning it. “It’s how it goes when you’re sick Henry; that’s when kids need their moms most.”    
  
  
“You’re my mom, too,” Henry whines. “Why can’t I have both of you? And sleep in my own room, too?”    
  
  
“Henry…” Emma tries to warn him off, but she’s interrupted by Regina.    
  
  
“Fine,” she says. “Emma can stay for a few days, if that’s what you want.”    
  
  
“Seriously?” Emma can’t help but ask. It’s not exactly surprising that Regina would order her around like just another member of staff, but letting Emma into her home seems like a pretty big step. “He’s almost out of the infectious stage.”    
  
  
“All the more reason for him to come home,” Regina says, smiling at Henry. “Go and wrap up warm, Henry. Miss Swan will pack your things and bring you over after you’ve eaten; won’t you, Miss Swan?”    
  
  
“Looks like I don’t have much choice,” Emma grumbles, pouring the soup into the waiting bowls.    
  
  
***    
  
  
When Emma finally gets to see Henry’s room properly, she can’t blame the kid for wanting to trade in Mary Margaret’s lumpy sofa. He flops out under the fancy duvet and blankets, leaving Emma to wander around and poke at the toys and books neatly arranged on every surface.    
  
  
“You need anything, kid?” She asks, spinning the fancy globe that sits in the corner. The only response she gets is a quiet snore. Great, now she’s got no choice but to go and face Regina, who’s skulking around downstairs in a bid to stay healthy. Emma can’t deny she’s glad to be returning Henry to his rightful place though, it’s been an exhausting few days with covering the late shift at the station, too.    
  
  
She finds Regina in her home office, sipping at a glass of cider as she sifts through a pile of papers. Emma finds that Regina seems less… threatening when preoccupied with either work or Henry, it makes her seem more human somehow.    
  
  
“He’s out,” Emma says as she knocks on the open door. “If you want, I’ll head home and come back early.”    
  
  
“I told Henry you’d stay,” Regina says, not looking up from her paperwork. “The bedroom next to mine is ready for you.”    
  
  
“Okay,” Emma says. “Ruby is covering for me tonight, so… did you want to eat or something?”    
  
  
“Miss Swan, you’re here because Henry wants it,” Regina says, before downing the rest of her drink and leaning back in her office chair. “Anything that makes him feel better when he’s sick, he can have. But don’t misunderstand me,” she adds, her smile cruel once more. “This doesn’t make us friends. And it certainly doesn’t make you his mother.”    
  
  
“Whatever,” Emma sighs, holding her hands up in defeat. “I just thought being civil for a change might be fun. I know it’s made this past week a hell of a lot easier, not having to argue with you every five minutes.”    
  
  
“Life isn’t easy, Miss Swan,” Regina says, her dark eyes fixing Emma with a glare. “If you’re hungry, help yourself to anything in the kitchen. I have work to do.”    
  
  
Emma’s ready to just head home anyway—Henry will have to understand—when she sees Regina lift her hand to scratch delicately at the back of her neck. That stubborn bitch, Emma thinks. She warned Regina this would happen.    
  
  
“What are you doing?” Emma demands, striding across to Regina’s desk. This one is a dark mahogany, much less imposing than the one at City Hall.    
  
  
“Miss Swan!” Regina yelps as Emma rounds the desk, and she’s not even thinking about her actions when she grabs Regina’s shoulder and dips her forward slightly.    
  
  
“Scratching, Regina?” Emma asks. “This is why you should have left Henry with me.”    
  
  
She looks at the light brown skin of Regina’s neck, but aside from a faint pink mark caused by Regina’s nails, there’s no sign of a rash. Regina squirms, apparently to get out of Emma’s grip, but Emma catches sight of her other hand sneaking beneath the hem of her dark green blouse.    
  
  
“Get your hands off me!” Regina growls as Emma tugs at the blouse, pulling it up far enough to expose half of Regina’s back.    
  
  
“See?” Emma begins, but as she looks again at the impossibly smooth skin, she can’t help but notice there’s no rash here either. “Why are you scratching if there’s nothing there?” She asks, running her fingertips over Regina’s back to confirm.    
  
  
What she isn’t expecting is for that to make Regina gasp. Emma’s first instinct is to pull away—hell, to run away—and yet she lets her fingers keep stroking up and down the exposed skin, almost as if she has no control over herself at all.    
  
  
“I had an itch,” Regina manages to say after a moment. “You keep talking about it, and it… I don’t know, maybe it’s psychosomatic.”    
  
  
“You’re sure you don’t have any other symptoms?” Emma asks, finally taking a step back and forcing her hands into the pockets of her jeans.    
  
  
“I’m fine,” Regina spits. “Apart from being manhandled.”    
  
  
“Sorry,” Emma admits. “I just assumed you’d deny it if I didn’t check for myself.”    
  
  
“You were a few inches from assault charges, Miss Swan,” Regina warns.    
  
  
“Like I said, sorry,” Emma repeats. “I should go,” she adds, with a shrug.    
  
  
“Wait,” Regina says, tugging at where Emma’s long-sleeved t-shirt has ridden up on her arm. “What’s that?”    
  
  
“They’re scars,” Emma points out, resisting the urge to add ‘duh’. “From when I had chicken pox, actually. Without the calamine I couldn’t help but scratch and well…”    
  
  
Now Regina’s the one touching without either reason or permission, one silky fingertip tracing the few white marks on Emma’s forearm like she’s mapping a constellation. Emma’s a little concerned that she doesn’t want to pull away, and she’s even more concerned when Regina’s thumb and forefinger close around her wrist, pulling a gasp just like Regina’s from Emma’s lips.    
  
  
“Oh,” is all Regina says, looking up at Emma from where she’s sitting, not looking sure of anything at all. “Thank you,” she adds, still holding Emma’s wrist. “For everything this week.”    
  
  
“No problem,” Emma says, watching warily as Regina unfolds the leg she has tucked under her and carefully stands up.    
  
  
“I didn’t want you here just for Henry’s sake,” Regina mutters, her eyes fixed on the floor and her face flushing at the admission. “It’s been very lonely, these past ten years. To suddenly have someone else, someone capable, and good with Henry…”    
  
  
“And I,” Emma admits. “Could have insisted on keeping him at my place. I think part of me wanted to come here. Not often you let the peasants inside your castle, is it?”    
  
  
“You’re no peasant,” Regina says, looking up again now with a smile that Emma can’t quite decipher. “I wouldn’t be doing this with a peasant,” she adds, leaning in to capture Emma’s lips in a soft but insistent kiss.    
  
  
“Wow,” Emma murmurs, barely pulling away when the kiss ends. “Who knew playing nurse would pay off like this?” Her head is reeling and she doesn’t have the first idea what she’s doing—other than playing with fire—but there’s no denying that she wants it.    
  
  
“Shut up,” Regina commands, claiming another kiss, this time with a lot more determination and a little more tongue. Emma finds herself breathless before long, pulling Regina closer and refusing to let the kiss end for longer than a second or two.    
  
  
“Huh,” Emma says when Regina grabs her ass. “Looks like I won’t be needing that guest bedroom, after all.”    
  
  
“You’re so full of yourself,” Regina grumbles, but she’s leading Emma by the hand, out towards the staircase.    
  
  
“Well,” Emma points out. “I’ll have to check you very thoroughly now. Every,” she pauses, pushing Regina against the wall and kissing the base of her throat, just above her elegant gold necklace. “Last,” she continues, sliding one hand beneath Regina’s skirt. “Inch,” she finishes, skimming her thumb over the silk of Regina’s underwear.    
  
  
“Upstairs,” Regina gasps, almost dragging Emma the rest of the way.


End file.
